Two Shots in the Night
by Anniemoonwhisper
Summary: Aramis is ambushed on his way back from Paris, when a mysterious stranger saves his life. He is injured and struggles to conceal his wound when the Spanish ambassador arrives to Paris seeking a treaty with France. Rated T for later scenes.
1. Chapter 1 (04-07 14:08:40)

**I decided to write a Musketeers fanfic, since I've recently become obsessed with the show and hope you enjoy reading it!**

Aramis sprinted through the forest as fast as his current condition allowed. The wind whipped at his cheeks and the feeling had long gone from his fingers. He wished he hadn't lost his hat a few miles back as the dew from the trees was dripping into his hair and down the back of his neck, which certainly wasn't helping his weary state. However, that was currently the least of his problems. Aramis willed himself not to turn around and just keep running. Just keep running. He repeated it like a mantra in his head, refusing to give in to the enemies that plagued him. He had to make it back in time for the arrival of the ambassador of the Spanish army. He was visiting Paris and evaluation whether it was worth signing a treaty with France. Aramis had to be there to represent and support his country. It was one of the most vital days in the history of France.

The paranoia overtook Aramis and, eventually, he couldn't resist and turned his head to scope out the trees behind him. The good news was that the Spanish soldiers were nowhere to be seen. However, as soon as Aramis spun around, a tree branch came out of nowhere and hit him square in the face, causing the musketeer to cry out in pain and surprise. Simultaneously, the wet undergrowth under Aramis' feet gave way and he was soon sprawled on the forest floor.

Aramis' quick gasps as he struggled for air came out as mist as the warm breath condensated against the harsh dusk air. The musketeer took his fall as a signal for a short respite, and he sunk as low as possible to avoid being seen while still frantically struggling to get his breath back. He reached for his leather water skin and let the last few drops of water fall onto his parched tongue. Nevertheless, it wasn't enough and there was still a dry spot in Aramis' throat which refused go away.

Aramis was a skilled huntsman, and adequately adept with the concept of time. Therefore, he knew well that a man needed five minutes to get his breath fully back after running for ten minutes. His head was foggy from the run so he estimated a couple of minutes, and controlled his breathing. He focused on it fully until only his heart was still hammering wildly. The thrill of the chase. Aramis cursed his excitement in such a perilous situation. He allowed himself a few more minutes before pulling himself up, quickly surveying the environment around him, then setting off at a steady pace again.

The many lights of Paris were twinkling on the horizon, and Aramis knew that, from the edge of the forest, the gates to Paris were a mere seven kilometres away. Setting forth with new optimism, Aramis failed to notice the tell tale crack of a twig and horse hooves cantering gently, until the riders were right on top of him. Cursing himself for being so careless, Aramis ground to a holt.

Three men on horseback blocked the road ahead, with one on either side of Aramis and two creeped up from behind. There was no escape.

Pulling out his rapier, Aramis winced as he was painfully reminded of the wrist he had sprained punching a soldier when he had first been attacked. The familiar weight of the sword, on the other hand, made him more sure of himself, and he was content with the fact that, if he were to die tonight, he would take a few Spanish soldiers with him. At least his he was relatively close to Paris; his friends would find him soon enough and be able to grant him a proper musketeer funeral.

Aramis did a quick sweep of his enemies- assessing who was most important, therefore who to attack first. A memory came swimming into his head, and suddenly he could hear Athos speaking calmly: First, assess the threat. Next, establish what the enemy wants. And, after that, just rip their heads off. Aramis snorted at his friend's analysis, and wished with all his might that Athos was there right now and could help his brother out of this impossible situation. Since that wasn't going to happen, Aramis at least tried to follow his friend's advice. First of all, the threat was... Big, it was seven versus one. And for the second point...

"What do you want?" Aramis' voice cut through the air like a knife through butter. A knife speaking perfect Spanish through cold, wet butter. At that precise moment you could have heard a pin drop.

"We were sent to dispose of a thorn in our leader's side." A rider stepped forward, smirking at Aramis' hopeless position.

"Ah. Right, well then..." Aramis twirled his rapier and adopted a battle stance. "I'd really rather you didn't." The cold sarcasm was Aramis' way of stalling to assess his opponents, which the leader quickly realised. With a wave of his hand, he set his soldiers into action. Aramis would have noted his impatience for further strategic use if Spanish soldiers hadn't started closing in on him on all sides.

With a driven shout, Aramis launched himself at the man to his left. The duel was quick and intense, however Aramis triumphed fairly easily and was soon standing over the dead Spanish body. The victory was short lived, however, as five more men rushed to replace their fallen comrade. Aramis steeled himself for the upcoming attack when three shots rang out in the night. One narrowly missed the top of Aramis' head and would've struck his hat, had it still been on his head. A horse whinnied, collapsing to the ground and a soldier cried out as the other two shots found their mark. Aramis looked around frantically to locate the source of his sudden ally, but took out his own pistol when he failed to see through the gathering fog.

The cold metal drew Aramis' concentration and, for about four seconds, there was only him, the pistol and the Spanish soldier on the receiving end. The bullet, as ever, didn't fail to hit its mark, and the soldier dropped onto the ground. As the last two soldiers arrived, Aramis was ready with his sword and impaled one soldier under the armpit, skilfully grabbed the loaded pistol from its holster, and fired a shot in between the last man's eyebrows. Breathing heavily, Aramis took a minute to regain his composure before turning to the fog behind him, intent on discovering his saviour when it struck him. Seven men. Six had come at him. The leader had hung behind. Realising this fact too late, Aramis felt two shots ring out in the night, and a bullet ripping through his left side. Darkness overtook him before he even hit the ground.

 **I'll write some more soon, the best bit is yet to come!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for all of the likes, follows and reviews! Please do let me know if you can suggest any improvements, as that would be greatly appreciated!**

Aramis woke up abruptly with his head ringing and his side throbbing painfully. The pain intensified the more conscious Aramis became, and he was soon tense, fully aware and clutching his wound. When Aramis was able to take in his surroundings, he noticed that there was much less blood on his fingers than there should have been (although he definitely wasn't complaining). After further examination, Aramis discovered a strip of cloth tightly wound over the bullet entrance. Another gift from his mysterious saviour.

Nevertheless, Aramis' fingers were still drenched in blood with more seeping through the bandage. Carefully, Aramis slipped his fingers under the bandage on his back, to find an exit wound... Unsuccessfully. That would be a problem much later. Aramis cursed silently and struggled to keep calm against all odds.

Squinting to steady his spinning environment, Aramis stuttered to his feet while supporting himself with one hand on the cold, stone wall... Wait, a wall? Last he could remember, Aramis was sure he had been outside a forest... He was starting to become painfully aware of the effects of blood loss as he struggled to separate fiction from reality.

Aramis, as he eventually realised, was in a back alley of Paris around a kilometre away from the Garrison. More factors adding to his confusion, Aramis focused intently on what he was sure was true. It could have been, what, six hours since the ambush? The sun was half way in between the horizon and its highest point in the sky, therefore if the sun rose at six then...

Aramis was too dizzy for the calculations and decided that the best course of action would be to retreat to his lodgings at the Garrison to evaluate and tend for his wound. Feeling confident that he had put together somewhat of a plan, Aramis set off; letting his body lead the way through the streets which he knew so well. Although the distance was short, it took Aramis a good half an hour to get back to the Garrison. He tried to avoid busy streets as much as possible to prevent any encounters with the Red Guard, or even Musketeers. Aramis just wanted to deal with his problem... Alone.

The Garrison was, surprisingly, completely desolate - Aramis didn't doubt that the Captain would have every last man working tirelessly on the preparations for the Spanish ambassador's arrival. He was glad of its emptiness; he didn't need any of his friends making a fuss over him or ordering him to stay in bed. He was fine. He was alright. Aramis had once heard that, if you wish something hard enough, it becomes reality. Unfortunately, he rather doubted that that saying was true owing to his increasingly worsening state.

Aramis knew, of course, that Treville would be furious if he ever discovered his soldier's condition. The key word there, of course, was if. Aramis was a skilled medic. The Captain or his fellow Musketeers needn't ever know of his injury.

With difficulty, Aramis pulled himself up to his room and slumped on the bed, fighting with consciousness. He lay on the covers until he could postpone the inevitable for no longer and willed himself into action. He stumbled to his cabinet, whose content included that of a medical kit. Pulling out a thin needle and thread, Aramis slid to the floor and proceeded to cut open the bandage.

Rivulets of blood ran down his side, and the flesh where the bullet had entered Aramis' side was completely torn apart. Aramis hissed in pain bit his cheek to prevent oncoming tears when the painful throbbing in his wound was renewed. But, this time, every muscle in his body seemed to be pulsating, and it felt like someone had jammed a knife into Aramis' skull. Feeling that his condition couldn't get any worse, Aramis decided that this was the right time to disinfect his wound. He managed to grab a nearby bottle of wine, proceeding to empty its contents onto his open wound.

The surge of pain was instantaneous and absolute- Aramis' vision was immediately overwhelmed by a blinding white light. Thousands of knives were being wrenched into his side, making it impossible to stop the sound that consequently escaped his lips.

Aramis' scream echoed around the Garrison, making its way through the thick wooden walls. It was lucky that the Garrison was clear of all residents; otherwise Aramis would have surely been discovered. Through the gaps in between his screams, Aramis grabbed another bottle of wine and downed it immediately. He let it fall to the floor and shatter on the hard floor as he was silenced by the alcohol. The torturous pain had subsided a little, however Aramis was still breathing heavily. His eyes were squeezed shut and one hand was on his wounded side, while the other was running through his wet hair, which was matted with sweat and blood from his wound.

Ten minutes and another bottle of wine later, Aramis finally set off to work and attempted to force his soaking hands to cooperate with his mind, which was doing its best to remain calm. A pair of tweezers were soon in his hand, and Aramis mentally steeled himself for the task ahead. He breathed in and out deeply a few times, before wiping his wound with a cloth to absorb all excess blood and plunging the sharp tool into his body.

Aramis clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding painfully against each other. Every muscle in his body was screaming, although Aramis managed to stop himself from eliciting a sound this time. The bullet was embedded deep into Aramis' side at an awkward angle; it took a lot of manoeuvring to locate the bullet. After several, pain-consumed moments, Aramis gave up on using the clean tool alone and finished the job with his fingers.

The majority of Aramis' clothes were now dripping with blood, with Aramis himself whimpering gently on the floor. Half conscious, he somehow managed to sew up the wound carefully, although the stitches were definitely far from the medic's usual perfection. He could replace them later when he wasn't so much at risk from blood loss and other complicated factors. Satisfied with his temporary solution, Aramis finally relaxed. He was aware that he would need to clean himself up before the ambassador's visit, but he could cross that bridge when he wasn't at an immediate risk of death.

An hour passed, and Aramis was feeling much better... Even to the point of getting up, washing, and changing his clothes. He felt refreshed but knew that the alcohol would eventually wear off and he would be left in a once again worsened state. Like many things that day, Aramis put this thought off. There was still a throbbing reminder in his side to help keep his focused.

Aramis only hoped that Treville would give his men a few days off after the ambassador's departure. Musketeers usually didn't get holidays (recovering from injuries didn't count) as they were constantly needed at the King's side... Although, every so often, if Treville felt they had done a good job, the Captain would take pity on his men and would allow them a few days respite so they were ready for action when they were needed. Treville also knew his men too well; especially his four best soldiers. He could always tell if Athos was having problems with his past, or d'Artagnan was overworking himself... He knee them too well and would always make up some fake excuse to give them time off when he knew they needed it.

Aramis was going to have to be careful about Treville; he knew him inside out. Hopefully, his attention tonight would be focused on the Spanish ambassador and would not notice that Aramis was hiding something. Neither would the other Musketeers, hopefully.

Aramis spent the remainder of his free time resting in his room. He knew that the next few days would be hectic with organisation, orders, errands, and the like. Aramis was going to get as much rest as he possibly could.

In what felt like no time at all, someone was pounding on Aramis' door. A very moody, impatient, strong someone. Athos.

"Aramis! Are you in there?"

Taking a few deep breaths to compose himself, Aramis headed to the door. He unlocked it to find all three of his companions waiting for him outside.

"You didn't tell us you'd returned!" Porthos slapped Aramis on the back playfully, and Aramis bit his lip as his wound was jostled by the movement. If his friends noticed his reaction or his pasty complexion, they didn't say anything.

"I was just resting in my room." Aramis forced a smile, setting off with his comrades.

"So we work our backsides off but at least Aramis got a day off _and_ fit in a nap." Athos purred in his usual cool demeanour.

Aramis grinned with the rest of them but hang behind as they made their way to the Palace. He rested his hand on the stone wall of a house next to him, taking a moment to hide in the shadows. Aramis had no doubt that the ordeals of the day were not yet behind him. He could feel a sweat building up and was expecting a fever, only praying that it wouldn't take fully hold until after the ambassador left. Either way, he was about to have some rough days ahead of him.

"Aramis? Are you coming?" d'Artagnan's voice cut through the mist that filled Aramis' head and he waved it away, before responding cheerily.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

 **Once again, I will try update soon, thank you to everyone who liked, followed, and commented. It means a lot to me and really encourages me to keep writing!**


	3. Chapter 3

**First of all, this is a bit awkward but (once again) I am new to this site and don't actually know how to physically reply to reviews... So just thank you to everyone who took the time to comment and follow/favourite it motivates me so much!**

The sun shone mercilessly that day. The leather musketeer outfits were tight, and not breathable one bit; the entire regiment was soon sweating profusely. At least, Aramis thought, this would hide his fever. If everyone was hot, he wouldn't stand out. He could feel his temperature rising which could, most probably, only mean one thing. Infection. Aramis' mysterious saviour may have gotten him to Paris quickly, but obviously not quickly enough.

Aramis knew he had some emergency herbal remedies in his room for similar situations. He hadn't been able to concentrate when he'd been there, however now it was abundantly clear a medical concoction would be a very good idea. Unfortunately, Aramis knew that any fake excuse would only arouse suspicion therefore there was no hope of getting back to his room for a while. Maybe he could sneak out at some point when no one was paying attention... They had nearly arrived at the palace, however, so Aramis put any temporary ideas out of his head for the time being until he could find a moment to concentrate.

Aramis followed his friends through the ongoing preparations to the terrace where Captain Treville was discussing something with the King and the Cardinal.

'Your Majesty.' Athos bowed gracefully, with the others following suite. Aramis had to bite his cheek as his belt dug into his side.

'Cardinal.' Athos addressed the Richelieu through grit teeth, performing a quick bow in his direction. Reluctantly, the others imitated their friend. Finally, Athos turned to Treville.

'Captain.'

By the third bow, Aramis was rapidly blinking away tears as he struggled to keep a straight face. He fought to conceal his expression, when suddenly Treville called him forward.

'Aramis. Our Spanish translator had to head to Savoy on other urgent matters. We have failed to find a replacement on such short notice. I trust you will willingly step in?' Treville fixed Aramis with one of his signature stares, until Aramis replied only moments later.

'Of course, it would be... An honour.' Aramis only bowed his head this time, and caught Treville's eye as he straightened up. Aramis wanted to scream at him: no, I can't do this, I should be resting, I should be...

But he couldn't. The Captain, Aramis' friends, and, now, all of Paris was relying on him. All future plans Aramis had envisioned disappeared with the blink of an eye.

By the time the preparations were complete, it was past noon. Both regiments were to have a short break before resuming their posts. Aramis once again considered a trip to his room, but knew it would be better to spend his time off resting instead. Going to his room would only use up his energy which was currently at a critical level. Therefore, Aramis kept to himself- fighting dizziness and the overpowering urge to sleep. He knew his body needed rest. It was just that Paris needed him more.

Aramis had not eaten since a modest breakfast the day before, however he certainly had no appetite now. He managed to drink a little water, but that was about it. Aramis knew that his friends would put his odd behaviour down to anxiety. Aramis' upcoming task was making him nervous, however not as much as it would normally due to rather unfortunate circumstances. Aramis' wound was rather demanding most of his attention. As if he could forget.

As the end of the short respite rapidly drew to an end, Treville appeared. Aramis rose, ready to follow his Captain. With a few good luck wishes from the others, the two soldiers once note headed towards the palace.

Aramis' side had numbed slightly and would have probably felt much better if Aramis had taken the time to let it heal more. Unfortunately, duty calls and it was currently screaming at Aramis.

On arrival at the palace, Aramis was lengthily briefed on what to do, say, where and when to stand, sit... Somehow Aramis managed to process the instructions and, before he knew it, he was positioned at the King's side, watching a carriage's progress as it slowly rolled in front of the palace. A man clad in ceremonial clothes (not unlike King Louise's outfit) stepped out of the doors. Two guards accompanied him, looming menacingly on either side. Louise stood to attention, waiting for the Spanish ambassador to ascend the palace steps. Aramis felt his muscles tense and could feel everyone around him do so too. There was a lot riding on the performance that France presented there that day.

After what seemed like an eternity, the Ambassador reached the top of the steps and greeted the King.

 _'Buenas trades, mi nombre es Embajador Del Bosque.'_

The gears in Aramis' brain began to turn automatically as he began to translate.

'Good afternoon, my name is Ambassador Del Bosque.'

The next few hours went by excruciatingly slow for Aramis. Upon his arrival, Ambassador Del Bosque was immediately taken to the Garrison where the musketeers were awaiting inspection.

'I hope the won't be any mistakes.' King Louise smiled in jest, though the look he shot Treville was deadly serious. Aramis translated immediately, addressing the Ambassador. A sense of confusion dawned on the Spaniard's face. At that moment, Aramis realised he had confused 'yerro' with 'hierro' and had just told the Ambassador that Louise hopes there wouldn't be any irons. After a hasty correction, all Aramis received (thankfully) was a strange look from the Spanish men before the tour was resumed.

Seeing his friends so formal and so obedient brought a smirk to Aramis' face. He could clearly see that Porthos was itching to just smash something to break the awkward silence. Calm and collective, just standing still... It was not any of their cup of tea.

The Musketeer performance was exemplary, apart from one unfortunate incident. Aramis went to go out of a soldier's way when he tripped over an unattended musket. He quickly held on to the nearest object for support. Unfortunately, that happened to be a table which came crashing down onto Aramis, along with all of the rifles soldiers had placed on it. Aramis' cry of surprise hid his reaction of genuine pain as the edge of the table caught Aramis in the midsection. It was not a direct impact on his wound, however the blow did disturb the area around it, causing the familiar painful throbbing to return.

Three blurry black shapes came into focus and, before he knew it, Aramis was being hauled out of the wreckage by two pairs of strong hands while a third lifted the table.

'Soldiers! Back to your commands!' Treville sounded infuriated, however Aramis could detect a slight touch of concern in his voice. Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan reluctantly retreated back to their posts after hearing Aramis' 'I'm fine, I wasn't looking where I was going...'

Treville strode over to Aramis, raising an eyebrow at his soldier's questionable state.

'And you.' He instructed the younger man, however a hint of worry was not to be missed, reflected in his stern expression.

The rest of the day flew by, with Aramis feeling like he was in some sort of trance. He made few mistakes with his translations (albeit there were mistakes) and no more incidents occurred.

The Ambassador was settling into his quarters to stay the night, and Aramis was released. Finally free from his duties, Aramis stumbled down the palace steps to take his horse back to the stables. To his surprise, his friends were already waiting for him to accompany him back after a hard day's work for all of them.

'I could do with a drink!' Porthos laughed loudly, grinning at his companions. Aramis agreed however immediately intended to bail out as soon as possible and head back to his room.

Aramis prepared to hoist himself onto the saddle, when suddenly something caught his eye. Something had moved among the palace hedges. And this wasn't the animal type of movement- it was surely a human. Suddenly, the shape reappeared and Aramis managed to even make out a face among the hedges. A face he knew very well, but hadn't seen for many years. The face of...

Aramis' shock at his discovery caught him off guard, causing his foot to slip on the stirrup. Instead, it went through, kicking the horses side and causing it to rear up in surprise at the sudden contact. The horse bolted and, before Aramis could process what had happened, his feet were being torn from under him and he was being dragged around the palace courtyard, pulled along by his foot. Aramis could hear his name being shouted and was aware of hooves galloping after him, however another problem had just been added to his list, which was long enough as it was.

A distinct ripping sound could be heard as Aramis was torn between the horse and gravity and his stitches couldn't handle the pressure. Aramis could feel the blood flow being renewed and, with his last bit of strength and willpower, he managed to kick his foot free from the stirrup. The hard ground was a blessing and Aramis simply lay there, enjoying the reliable surface, until he heard several pairs of feet crunching in the gravel as they ran in his direction. Soon, Aramis was once against surrounded by his friends, and at the midst of a flood of questions.

'Aramis, are you alright?'

'Where's that blood coming from?'

'Shit, there's so much of it...'

'Aramis, what happened?'

'Who did this to you?'

'Wait... Is that from a musket ball?'

All questions were abruptly silenced as Aramis opened his mouth to speak. His eyes remained closed, but the image of the face he saw before was burned into his eyelids.

With his last bit of energy, Aramis managed to scrunch up his face and mutter in an annoyed fashion 'my needlework' before he finally lost consciousness.

 **After writing for over 2 hours straight, there you have it! I really hope you enjoyed the chapter and I'll keep working on the next installment! Please let me know what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi again! Sorry it's been a while, I've just been really busy with everything, what with crying over Infinity War and all that. Anyway, here's the next instalment, so please enjoy!**

'Aramis! **Aramis**!' multiple cries echoed throughout the courtyard. D'Artagnan was shaking his friend hopelessly, while Athos unbuttoned Aramis' uniform and lifted his shirt.

A bandage was wrapped around his friend's torso, and was becoming quickly darker as blood flooded from the wound. Lifting the tattered cloth, Athos could make out fine stitches along the edge of the injury. They weren't very evenly spaced, however, and Athos mentally admitted this wasn't his friend's finest work. One does tend to be distracted when sewing themselves up.

Athos unsheathed his knife, stripping off a piece of fabric off the bottom of his shirt. D'Artagnan, who was still in shock at the sight of his friend's horrifying injury, now did the same. Porthos had run after Aramis' horse before and, after calming it down, he too ran towards his injured friend. As he neared his friends, Athos looked up and shouted urgently:

'Get Lemay!'

Porthos took only a moment to survey the scene before him before he turned on the opposite direction and ran back, despite already being heavily out of breath. The image of Aramis laying on the floor helplessly spurred him into action. He didn't know what had happened, but he would sure as hell question his friend about it later. They all would.

Aramis' head was resting in D'Artagnan's lap when Porthos returned. Several more layers of bandages had been applied to his side, yet still blood was steadily seeping through. Aramis was paler that any time any of them could remember, his forehead beaded with sweat. D'Artagnan was softly running his fingers through Aramis' hair, mumbling words of reassurance je knew his friend couldn't hear. Athos was replacing bandages as quickly as he could. He had practically ripped apart his and Aramis' shirt for material. Discarded strips of fabric lay in a pile by Aramis' head.

Lemay followed close behind Porthos. Ass soon as Athos say the doctor, he moved aside reluctantly to let him study his patient.

'He'll need new stitches... And fresh bandages... Rapid pulse...' Lemay muttered more to himself than to the musketeers, who hung on every word nonetheless.

'We'll need to get him to his bed.' Lemay looked up, addressing the small group who were staring at him intently. ' _Now_.'

As if snapping out of a trance, everybody moved at once; Porthos grabbed Aramis' arms, Athos his legs and, in a slightly comic- like fashion, carried him in the direction of the Garrison. D'Artagnan stood up shakily, collecting the discarded bandages and Aramis' personal affect the, which had been removed during the chaos. He went to collect his horse (and everyone else's), ready to take back to the Garrison. As soon as he took his first step, however, someone called from behind.

'D'Artagnan!' The musketeer spun around quickly, seeking out the voice that called to him. Treville was coming down the steps to the palace, obviously having just come from inside of it. As D'Artagnan opened his mouth to explain the blood on his hands, Treville intervened.

'It's alright, I know what happened. Athos told Constance, who told the Queen, who passed it onto me. News travels unimaginably fast.'

Treville had reached his musketeer by now, and looked at him sympathetically.

'I know you want to be there to help. But I really need you to investigate the Palace Gardens. There have been multiple reports of a stranger seen lurking about.'

D'Artagnan looked in the direction that his friend had been carried off in, then back to Treville.

'I understand that you want to be with him, but this could be a very urgent matter and you're closest on hand.' Treville reasoned apologetically. 'He's in safe hands.' He added quietly, upon seeing D'Artagnan's reluctance. Finally, the soldier nodded solemnly, and set off at a run towards the gardens. He remembered Aramis looking into the bushed, being startled right before his incident. If he has seen the person who had shot him... If that person was here... D'Artagnan would make sure he paid for what had happened to his friend.

Aramis was, thankfully, still out cold and the only sound he made was quiet moans as he was carried around, before being placed on his bed at the Garrison.

'Get me some hot water, bandages, needle and thread.' Lemay instructed, without looking up from his patient. Porthos and Athos set around looking for the desired objects; without even communicating, Porthos went to get the water and Athos rummaged Aramis' draws for his medical kit, which he knew he always had close by. At that moment, Constance returned, breathing heavily.

'I've excused myself from the Queen's service.' She managed to get in between breaths. 'She sends her kind regards... And plenty of bandages.' She motioned to a bundle she had brought in over her shoulder. Athos took it and looked Constance in the eyes.

'Thank you.'

The woman smiled kindly.

'You're very welcome. Now go save your friend.' At that moment, Porthos burst in with a bucket, red in the face from how fast he must have been moving.

'There's one more thing I need' Lemay announced. Everyone, in unison, turned to face Athos. Rolling his eyes, the musketeer produced a bottle from an inside pocket of his uniform. Handing it over to Lemay reluctantly, he mumbled threatingly:

'Use it well.'

The next few hours were long and arduous, with plenty of swearing and not enough sleep. About two hours into the operation D'Artagnan returned, apologetic for his absence. He exchanged a sad smile with Constance, then addressed Lemay with the question that everyone was afraid to ask.

'How is he doing?'

'I've managed to stabilise the bleeding, but the wound's infected and he's battling a fever. He also has a mild concussion; he must have hit his head at some point, perhaps when falling over or being dragged along the ground. I'm afraid only time will tell.'

'When was he shot?' This time it was Athos who spoke, regarding Lemay questioningly.

'It's hard to say. I would say, maybe two or three days ago. A mid- range shot, he was probably running away from his attacker. How he managed to keep going like this I don't know.'

'Don't worry, when he wakes up, he's going to get it.' Athos assured the doctor.

Once Lemay knew his patient was stabilised, he instructed to be called when Aramis woke up, and to not let him out of bed.

Now that there was silence, D'Artagnan explained where he'd been and to what business he'd been attending to. He hadn't found a trace that anyone had been stalking the gardens, let alone an actual person. Whoever this was, they were good at hiding their tracks. D'Artagnan shuddered to think that Aramis may have been injured by a former or current soldier. He didn't know how his friends would react, so he kept this information to himself for the time being.

A few words were exchanged, but, eventually, silence fell yet again. In the end, D'Artagnan couldn't keep still anymore. He stood up, and started pacing furiously around the room. Athos followed him with his eyes in mild amusement. Now that the shock was wearing off, the musketeers' worry was replaced with anger.

'Completely irresponsible... Utterly stupid, out of your mind!'

D'Artagnan started rambling as he strode across the room. Porthos had gone to get more drinks (they all knew how Athos could be), and the man in question was quietly hunched in a corner. D'Artagnan paused for a second, scowling at Aramis who was still showing no signs of response.

'How come you're so calm about all of this?' D'Artagnan frowned at Athos, who couldn't resist a slight smirk.

'No point wasting my energy now, better to wait until he's awake.' Athos reasoned coldly.

Sighing in exasperation, D'Artagnan claimed his position at his friend's side.

'Treville isn't going to be happy, is he?' Athos considered evenly. Simultaneously, both of the soldiers faces formed into wide grins. Treville was going to be furious when he found out that Aramis had put his duty before his own wellbeing. Treville was going to gut the soldier alive. Athos almost felt sorry for him. At least it might prevent his friend from doing something so stupid again in the future. No, Aramis had earned the oncoming storm.

Aramis opened his eyes slowly, and looked around, confused. Hadn't he been outside the palace? Now everything seemed fuzzy... Somehow different. As the musketeer sat up quickly, a splitting pain shot through his temples, causing Aramis to inhale sharply, placing a hand on his forehead. Resting his head slowly back on the pillow, Aramis concentrated on his breathing for a moment before letting his hand fall to his side as the pain subsided. He also became aware of his side, which still ached... But felt so much better than it had before. Reaching under his fresh shirt, Aramis could feel a fresh layer of clean bandages, covering his wound. He even though he couldn't see it, Aramis knew someone had stitched the wound together again.

Sitting up slowly to avoid revisiting the experience, Aramis propped himself up on his elbows and observed the semi- lit room. Four dark shadows resided in the corner and, upon closer examination, Aramis concluded they were people. The musketeer frowned. Memories of the previous evening were starting to come back to him. He remembered the horse, and the trees... And the face he had seen among them. His head pounded agonisingly again, but this time of didn't have anything to do with movement. Aramis cried out, once again putting his hand onto his forehead, leaning his head back as he breathed shakily.

Suddenly, Aramis could feel himself being pushed back down, with someone shooting in the background. He did wish people wouldn't shout. It wasn't helping his headache in the slightest.

Aramis forced his breath to slow down as he lay back, and tried to focus on his surroundings. He could hear cluttering, multiple people talking all at once... A door slammed in the distance somewhere. Aramis became aware that one of the voices talking was addressing him. Trying to focus on that, the soldier could make out snippets of conversation.

'Is he alright?' 'Aramis, can you hear me?' 'Lemay's coming' The best one had to be D'Artagnan, who Aramis could hear asking what was going on. It was typical of him; the Gascon was probably still half asleep.

'Shut up!' Aramis groaned, causing a hushed silence to fall across the room.

'Quit your jabbering, this isn't a tea party.'

After a few moments, another voice cut through the silence.

'How are you feeling?' It was Treville, positioned by Aramis' head. Turning to face his captain, Aramis responded tiredly.

'I've been better.'

At that moment, Athos finally erupted.

'What were you thinking? Not telling us about something like this? You could've gotten yourself killed!' Athos finished angrily, before turning to D'Artagnan.

'That felt good, do you want a go?' Upon seeing his friend look so ashamed, he replied quietly.

'No, I expended my energy while he was sleeping.'

Aramis tried to retort defensively:

'I couldn't let you down, I was just doing my duty...'

' _Damn_ your duty!' Treville growled. 'When you're injured, that takes precedence about all else. So you understand me?'

Aramis couldn't look his captain in the eye, and just stayed silent. Thankfully, that was the moment Lemay chose to burst in with Porthos, making his way to Aramis' bedside.

'Right, everyone... Out of the way! I need to examine him.' Lemay ordered, and no one dared argue. Aramis' friends shot him glares that clearly said 'we're not done with you yet', and went to resume their previous positions. Aramis just lay back, and let the good doctor examine his condition. Unfortunately, he knew that he would soon have to explain everything. He was soon going to have to reveal what he knew, and all Aramis could do was think of a good way to explain it. Because he was going to need a good explanation.

That's it then! Sorry to keep you hanging again, all will be explained next time (hopefully, if I can figure it all out by then!). Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm back!**

 **Yes, it took a while… but I think I've finally figured out how this story is going to go. Or not… let's just see where this goes!**

'Start from the beginning.' Athos instructed Aramis, leaning forward to examine his friend's expression as he spoke. Aramis looked around at the semi-circle of eager listeners that were waiting for his speech.

Aramis cleared his throat, looking down to avert his gaze from the gathering as he tried to compose his response. During his hours of recovery when the others were on duty he had thought long and hard about what to say but, now that the moment was here, it just couldn't seem to come out. Aramis opened his mouth to speak and closed it again a second later as he realised he had no idea what to say. The atmosphere in the room was so thick you could have cut through it with a rapier.

'Well…' Aramis finally spoke, uncomfortably aware of the many faces that were fixated upon him.

'It started when I was returning to Paris…' Aramis began slowly, and after that the words flowed freely from his mouth. No one stopped him or interrupted, they all just listened eagerly. He told them about everything; the gunshot, the mysterious ally, all through to the face he saw in the palace hedges.

At that point, D'Artagnan cut in impatiently.

'I thought you had seen someone, so I searched the palace gardens! I didn't find anyone though. Whoever it was must have been taught by someone of great skill, almost equal to that of the training of Musketeer. But it couldn't have been a Musketeer-' D'Artagnan stopped abruptly in his tracks when he saw the distraught look on Aramis' face.

'Right?'

Aramis dropped his gaze again.

'I think it's time to tell us what you've been hiding.' Athos stated, but his suggestion sounded very much like an order.

'Who did you see?' Treville chipped in, his eyes boring into Aramis'.

Porthos stayed silent, however he fixed his friend with a deadly stare. When Aramis saw the changes in expression of his friends' faces, he sighed.

'There's something I've never told anyone…' He began slowly, to which Porthos snorted with amusement.

'Are we supposed to be surprised? We all know that you have more secrets than the cardinal himself!' He growled, yet it wasn't meant as an insult. The corner of Aramis' mouth twitched slightly, and a more relaxed expression overtook his tense face.

'Back when I was training to be a Musketeer, I had a friend. One who excelled above all others, including myself. The only thing I could ever beat his at was rifle shooting, if he was a bit tired that day.' Once again, the soldier's mouth drew into a thin smile as he relived the memory.

'Henri' Treville muttered, and Aramis nodded silently. After a moment, he continued.

'He was unarguably the best soldier in the Garrison. So, when a special mission came from the King, there was one clear candidate. It was an undercover operation to infiltrate the Spanish ranks and report back to Paris. See, Henri talked Spanish. He actually taught me.' Aramis recounted, staring fixatedly at a crease in his bedsheets.

'So, we said our goodbyes, and Henri left. It was only going to be a few weeks. This was a couple of days before…' The marksman fell dead quiet again, and nobody had to ask how his sentence ended. Aramis could never bring himself to talk about Savoy. He hadn't broached the subject, or even distantly approached it since… Marsac. At this point, nobody felt comfortable with eye contact and a sullen silence fell upon the room once more.

'Anyway' Aramis cleared his throat again. 'Events… came to pass, and months went by… and still no sign of Henri. No letter, no message, no rumour. Simply nothing. We had to assume the worst.'

Treville nodded sullenly, but didn't interrupt.

'We used to have a special agreement. Henri and I.' The Musketeer continued. 'If ever one of us needed help in any way, but couldn't approach the other, we'd meet in the Palace gardens, among the hedges. We never patrolled there but they were in plain view. So, if one of us saw the other there, we knew something had happened and we could talk in private.'

'And you're convinced it was Henri's face you saw the other day.' Athos cut in, shooting his friend a questioning look.

Aramis just looked away, and sat back more comfortably on his pillows.

'It has been over five years, and his face was transformed… but I don't think I could ever mistake his eyes.' Aramis concluded. 'We thought he was dead, but we never had any proof, there was no body, no message…' He halted, letting out a deep sigh and put his forehead into his palms. Looking up, he addressed his audience.

'If Henri is out there, and he's looking for me – if he needs my help in any way, if he thinks his life might be in danger-' Aramis was getting more desperate as he spoke, breathing heavily and he went on. Soon, he was trying to pull himself out of bed, only to have several pairs of strong arms push him back again.

'Aramis! You've got a bullet wound!' D'Artagnan tried to reason with him. Aramis regarded his calmly, before snapping back.

'So what if I've got a hole in my side, I'm still doing it!' Several shouts of 'oh no you don't' and 'don't be ridiculous!' forced Aramis into obedience, and he finally gave up.

'You know what, you lot? I think I'll report you to the Captain, this is obstruction…'Aramis yawned as his exhaustion finally got the better of him. Everybody's gaze turned to Treville in unison, who responded acknowledgingly.

'Your complaint is noted.'

Aramis slipped deeper into unconsciousness, watching the room dissipate in front of his eyes as sleep took over.

Opening his eyes slowly, Aramis surveyed the room, confused. It was dark outside, and most of the room was veiled with the darkness of the night. Aramis couldn't see them, yet he just knew that his friends were sitting in the corner like they had been doing before. The slow sound of heavy breathing was reassuring. Aramis rubbed his temples with either hand, before sliding out of his covers onto the cold floor. He didn't know what he was doing, but he knew he had to do something. Anything. He had to get to Henri. God knew, he may already be too late.

Aramis waited until the room had stopped spinning before picking up his uniform which had been dumped on a chair by the bed.

At one point, while buttoning his jacket, Aramis accidentally put pressure onto his injury, groaning loudly before he could contain his pain. A bottle dropped, and rolled across the floor. Aramis froze in anticipation, and waited to be pushed back into bed as he was discovered. But nobody came. Turning around slowly to gaze at the small group in the corner, the marksman spotted no change in their positions compared to a few minutes ago. Athos had just dropped the empty bottle he had been holding in his hand at Aramis' exclamation, but otherwise no one so much as stirred. The soldier let out a quiet breath, before fastening his rapier to his side and picking up his belt. Upon further consideration, however, he placed this item back down again. He doubted it would fit over the bandages.

Like a sly fox, the Musketeer crept out of the room. He knew how to avoid every creaking floorboard, the slightest sounds that could have given him away. Hesitantly, he undid the latch on the door and tip toed out of the room, closing the door gently behind him. In his head, he quickly prayed to God that his friends would forgive him, before setting off down the dark corridor.

The night was cloudy, but every so often the moon shone through as if to remind the world that it was still present. Aramis skilfully avoided the guards at the gate, and stole down the streets towards the King's palace. The excitement inside Aramis bubbled as his excitement built up, anxious to reunite with his old friend.

He reached the gardens in no time, though it felt like an eternity. Aramis pushed the renewed throbbing in his side to the back of his head as he entered the maze of trees and hedges. The thick canopy prevented any light, moon or otherwise, from settling on the dark ground, and Aramis had no trouble getting around unseen.

The soldier's search was quick but thorough- this was a place he knew well, where he often went to contemplate his feelings when he was slightly overwhelmed. This was the hiding place his friends hadn't discovered yet, the place they never thought to go to. Of course, now that Aramis had told them about Henri and the gardens, this was surely the first place they would look once they discovered his escape.

Once he was right in the centre of all of the bushed, Aramis took a moment to work out his next move. He hadn't found any signs of life yet, but he knew very well that a Musketeer could hide himself if he wanted to. As the marksman considered where Henri could be hiding, he heard a swish coming towards him. Someone had hurled a dagger at him, and, in his current state, Aramis was too slow to react. He felt the object as it went by, and found its target… about half a centimetre above his head, pinning his hat to the tree behind him.

'And you're dead.' A familiar voice cut through the night, and Aramis felt an overwhelming sense of Deja Vous. From the shadows, a lean figure appeared profiled for a second by the moonlight before it was swallowed again by the merciless clouds.

'Aramis. You're slipping, my friend. Old age?'

Aramis recognised the voice completely this time and replied in a similar tone:

'Well, I am a wounded man.'

He could now see his companion's face in full, that wide smile he could never forget…

'Henri, the devil himself come back to haunt us.' Aramis stated, before feeling the warm embrace of a long lost friend.

'I thought I was imagining things… I thought you were dead.' Aramis stared at his companion in disbelief when they broke apart.

'Well I think I'm still alive… could we determine that later? There's a lot I need to tell you about…' Henri's voice was now but a whisper. He was so close to Aramis that the marksman could feel his breath on his ear as he talked urgently.

'The Spanish are preparing an attack. The inspection was a ruse set up by an unknown source, who plans to turn France and Spain against each other.'

Aramis glanced at his friend in disbelief, not wanting to believe what he was hearing.

'How did you obtain this information?' He asked, surveying Henri questionably.

'It doesn't matter how.' Came the response. 'All that matters is that a third party plans to turn the two countries against each other. When France asks to discuss the treaty, Spain will deny the inspection as it wasn't carried out on the orders of Spain. They know nothing of it. The real Spanish ambassador is currently in Italy on a state visit.' Henri paused to check his companion was taking it all in. Aramis just nodded to signal he understood.

'We need to alert the King. But, if we tell him, he will surely blame Spain and a war will be imminent nonetheless!'

'Why are you telling me this? What can I do to stop this?' Aramis asked urgently.

'Well, that's easy. All we have to do is deliver two letters.' Henri explained.

'Oh. Is that all?'

'Yes. Well, we do have to plant one of them on the fake Spanish ambassador and one in the Cardinal's chambers but otherwise yes, no complications.' Henri elaborated.

'Those are pretty big 'complications'!' Aramis hissed in disbelief.

The sun was beginning to come up now, and dappled light was beginning to emerge in the gardens. Whatever the soldiers were to so, they had to decide now, or else be found out.

'So? Will you help me?' Henri looked at Aramis pleadingly, who had his hand on his forehead again.

'For the good of France?' He asked finally.

'For the good of France.' Henri repeated, and both men clasped arms in a firm hold.

'I don't suppose we can implicate my friends into this plan of ours.' Aramis suggested cautiously. He knew he could trust his companions with anything.

'I'm sorry.' Henri shook his head sadly.

As the two men crept towards the palace gates to exit, Aramis asked quietly.

'So, what's the plan?'

'Well…' Henri faltered for a moment. Aramis raised an eyebrow and couldn't help but smile slightly. As they turned the corner into the street, he pronounced:

'That's alright. To quote Athos…'

'Let's keep it suicidal?' The familiar tone made Aramis stop dead in his tracks. Around the corner on the street stood three disgruntled figures and they were not looking happy.

Aramis was instantly being told off by multiple sources.

'You didn't tell us where you were!'

'You went off **on your own**!'

'We've talked about this!'

Finally, it was too much for Aramis.

'Snails can sleep up to three years at a time!'

At this, everyone stopped, and stared at Aramis in confusion.

'Oh I'm sorry, I thought we were all just exchanging random useless facts.' Aramis apologised sarcastically.

'Yes, I left, I'm here now, and no, you're statements aren't useful because I am trying to stop a war!' Aramis grew angrier throughout the sentence, and had to stop for breath at the end.

'Is this true?' Athos glanced at Aramis, who nodded silently.

'Then let's go stop a war.' Porthos growled. Aramis stared at him disbelievingly.

'You're… not going to try and stop me?'

'What kind of friends would we be, to let this country perish in chaos because of you?' D'Artagnan joked, throwing Aramis a reassuring smile.

Henri, who had been silent for a while, stepped forward, introducing himself.

'Yes, we've heard about you.' Athos stated slyly, and Henri turned to look at Aramis as if to ask what he had meant by that. Aramis only smiled mischievously.

'Well, I think you'd better bring us up to speed.' Athos enquired.

'Basically, we're going to save France.' Aramis began.

'Again?' Porthos smirked, before Aramis started filling them in on the plan.

 **That was quite a long chapter but I'm glad it went the way it did! I hope that answers some questions, I'll update again as soon as possible.**


	6. Chapter 6

' **I'll update again as soon as possible.' Yes, that was what I said last time, wasn't it? Oops. I'm sorry about the wait, but I'm back now! I'm as interested to see where this story will go as you are…**

The sun was starting to show through the trees, battling through the leaves to illuminate the riders. It may have provided light, but it was too early in the morning for any heat to be expected from it, so Aramis sat shivering in his saddle. He didn't say anything, however, as he had a feeling that his friends still weren't entirely pleased with him and he didn't want to complain after he had escaped to go on this mission and basically dragged them along. If anyone had the right to complain, it was Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan.

'How are you holding up?' This question made Aramis jump slightly, as silence had prevailed for the past few hours. He looked over in surprise upon the voice to see D'Artagnan had brought his horse beside Aramis' own, and was talking in such a tone as to not be overheard by others.

'I'm fine.' Aramis retorted, staring ahead. Yet he could still feel his friend's annoyed expression.

'Now, how did I know you would say that?' D'Artagnan gazed at Aramis disapprovingly. When he didn't get a reply, he sighed in defeat and nudged his horse forward. This obviously wasn't the right time, and the Gascon knew that his friend would talk to him sooner or later, just not… now.

As dawn bloomed, the group continued on their silent journey throughput the forest. In between his efforts over the past few days and the mere few hours of rest he had been able to snatch, Aramis was practically falling asleep in his saddle. He fought to keep his eyes open but resisted the urge to let the exhaustion win. Saving France was more important than anything. He kept repeating this to himself, to the point where he actually believed it, managing to drive that tiny Treville-shaped conscience from his mind: _When you're injured, that takes precedence above all else_. But Aramis couldn't rest, not now, not when France was… so… tired.

Athos was the first to turn around when the loud thud reached his ears. Impeccable instincts caused him to immediately stop his horse and reach for his sword, before actually noticing what had happened. Aramis had slid out of the saddle as he rode, apparently falling asleep and loosening the grip on his reigns.

'Aramis!' D'Artagnan was the first at his friend's side with the others quickly joining him, only Henri standing back, apart from the others.

Aramis' eyes slowly opened, focusing in on his friends' worried faces one at a time. Realising that he appeared to be on the ground again, the musketeer groaned before resting his head back on the soil and shaking it slightly.

'I have got to stop waking up like this.'

Relieved that his friend was all right, Athos could feel the anger returning to him.

'Aramis, you really can't keep doing this. You have to give your body time to heal!'

Aramis faked co-operation and nodded, refusing to make eye contact with the other man. Realising that Aramis wasn't going to follow his orders, Athos hastily tried to conjure a plan on how to force the stubborn musketeer into submission.

'If you do this again, I'll…' He considered, before announcing triumphantly, 'We'll leave you in the forest. I'll personally tie you to a tree and we will pick you up from wherever we're going on the way back.'

This sounded like a bit of a far-fetched threat, but Aramis knew that Athos wouldn't hesitate to go through with it if he thought it was necessary. The marksman couldn't let his friends, old or new, go into such danger by themselves. If something happened to them he would personally hold himself responsible.

'Alright, I promise I'll look after myself.' Aramis sighed dejectedly, his friend's threat forcing him into compliance. Sometimes it was a bit scary how well Athos knew his friends. He could easily destroy them all if he really wanted to. Aramis thanked God that they were on the same side.

'Speaking of wherever we're going, where the hell are we going?' Porthos growled, turning towards Henri who hadn't said anything for quite some time. 'We've journeyed far enough from Paris to be sure that we won't be overheard. What are we going to _do_?'

'Yes, excellent questions,' Henri finally spoke, watching as Athos helped Aramis to his feet while checking if there was any additional damage from the fall apart from a few bruises.

'The Spanish "Ambassador" was sent by the Cardinal. I'm sure of it.' Upon seeing the sceptical looks from the musketeers, Henri insisted. 'I have sources, trust me.'

At this Athos snorted, clearly showing how little he trusted this new suspicious figure, however he didn't interfere any further as Henri continued with his explanation.

'To stop France blaming Spain for sending a fake inspection and the consequent imminent war, we need to find the imposter and bring him back to Paris. He will have a letter, umm, _on his person_ …' Henri procured an envelope from the inside of his jacket "that will outline the Cardinal's plans to spur the two countries against each other. A second letter, in turn, will be left in the Cardinal's chambers from the imposter telling him that nobody suspected his intentions and that the Cardinal would soon get what he wanted.' Henri finished, gazing at each one of his companions individually to monitor their reactions. Athos, who was definitely the most displeased out of all of them, challenged Henri's suggestion.

'If the Cardinal did set this up, isn't it possible he has a letter in his chambers anyway? If it's so, adding a second will only make everything messier.' He surveyed Henri suggestively, as if slightly in triumph. However, the other man wasn't swayed by Athos' criticism and explained coolly.

'The Cardinal is smart; he will have eliminated any trace of this whole affair from his personal documents. No, there needs to be a letter even he doesn't know about. Even then, however, he could easily deny it. The second letter, along with the hired imposter, will prove to the King once and for all that the Cardinal is anything but on his side.'

Athos frowned, attempting to find something he could argue with in Henri's reasoning. To his disappointment, however, it was relatively logical and probably the best solution right now.

'Where's Treville?' Aramis cut in, saving his friend from having to think to a response to Henri's explanation. Athos hated being wrong (as it didn't happen very often) and he didn't like not being in charge either. Aramis could spot a friend in trouble a mile away, so he asked a question that he had been wondering about previously.

'After you disappeared, we immediately realised you must have gone to the gardens to meet with Henri,' Athos turned his attention to his friend, glad for the distraction, 'we didn't know whether he was dangerous or not, so Treville went to guard the King just in case of any attack, while we went to search the gardens. He doesn't know where we went, but I guess he'll suspect.'

Porthos grunted audibly, frowning when everybody turned to look at him.

'What? There's too much talking. When do we get to the action?' He complained, drawing grins from his friends.

'I couldn't agree with you more my friend. But first,' D'Artagnan took over, glancing quickly at Aramis, 'a few hours of rest. We've been riding since midnight and a little sleep never hurt anyone.'

Everyone knew that it was purely for Aramis' benefit, but none argued and were secretly each glad that they could get out of their saddles for a while.

While Athos took Henri to the side to discuss further details of the plan, Porthos began building up a fire to beat the chilly November breezes (the weather was getting extremely unpredictable; it was boiling hot one day, and freezing cold the next) and D'Artagnan unloaded supplies and tethered the horses. That in itself didn't take long, so he soon joined Aramis who was sitting in front of the fire.

'May I?' he cautiously approached his friend, who looked up at the Gascon. This time he wasn't so quick to cast away his D'Artagnan's proposal. Seeing the medical kit in the young man's hands he nodded, before taking off his leather jacket carefully. Normally, he would be content on replacing his own bandages, but he knew that he had taught D'Artagnan well and he hadn't gotten many chances to test out what he had learned yet. Although it did seem a bit ironic that he should be practicing on the man who had taught him.

The marksman continued staring into the fire as he felt D'Artagnan's gentle fingers lift his shirt and slowly unroll the bandage. Aramis had to admit that Lemay had done a thorough job in cleaning and stitching up the musket wound, although it was still far from healed.

D'Artagnan discarded the used bandages into the fire, carefully rewrapping the strips of fabric. Aramis reached for his discarded jacket, his hand disappearing inside to emerge with a bottle moments later and he uncapped it with his teeth. He obviously didn't mean to save any for later. He took a long swig from the bottle, closing his eyes and enjoying the warmth of the wine as it relieved the pressure in his tense muscles. Offering the bottle to D'Artagnan who gladly accepted it, Aramis closed his eyes again. He loved feeling the heat of the fire on his face, and he felt like he could almost forget all of his troubles in the safety of the flames. Unfortunately though, his troubles still remained.

Focusing on the crackling of the flames, Aramis opened his eyes to stare into the fire. He was very aware of D'Artagnan sitting next to him, carefully examining all of Aramis' milder injuries.

'You're right, I'm not fine.' Aramis finally spoke, maintaining a fixed gaze into the flames.

'Since the beginning of this whole ordeal, nothing has been fine. I just wish I was able to see that. Since Marsac, I haven't given much thought to my past, but maybe I should have. I should have realised that my past is not a weakness- it's what made me into the person I am today.' He finally looked D'Artagnan in the eyes, smiling at him proudly even through slightly wet eyes.

'A musketeer.'

At that moment, Porthos returned.

'Hey D'Artagnan, can you get some-' Looking at the men's faces, Porthos realised he had probably interrupted something.

'Sorry, I didn't mean to…' He shifted around uncomfortably.

'No, it's ok, I was just replacing Aramis' bandages.' D'Artagnan smiled at Porthos reassuringly. 'What did you want me to get?'

'Just some more wood, for the fire.' Porthos explained, before watching the Gascon rise energetically and go to complete his task. Sitting down next to Aramis, the larger man added some sticks to the fire that were scattered around.

'Now, where do you reckon the other two have gone off to?'

'How do I put this nicely? You're out of your mind.' Aramis and Porthos looked up in surprise. Athos and Henri were back, and had obviously spent the last half-hour arguing.

'What's going on?' Aramis' gaze flickered between his two friends in confusion, demanding an explanation.

'Henri wants to go in there alone, and try to lure the imposter out.' Athos explained, from his expression it was obvious that he was not on board with this idea.

'Well, the only other person who speaks Spanish is Aramis and, well… his current state is rather restricting.'

'I don't care who it is going in. We are not sending one person in alone, regardless of who it is. That's not the way we do things, it's just too much of a risk.' Athos frowned. He cast a glare in Aramis' direction that obviously said _I still don't trust him_. Aramis realised that the decision would most likely be on him. Before he could respond, however, Athos' face expression fell. Everyone turned to him as a horrified shadow swept across his face.

'Where's D'Artagnan!?'

Everyone exchanged alarmed looks.

'He went to get fire wood about thirty minutes ago…' Aramis stated slowly.

'We've taken too long to get the imposter. Now, he's gotten to us.' Henri pronounced with a solemn expression.

'No, we don't give up.' Athos turned on Henri. 'We never leave a brother behind.'

'Well, I wasn't suggesting you should. I was merely-' As the conversation began already developing yet again into what looked to be another argument, Aramis summoned the remainder of his strength and cut in.

'Gentlemen!' He interrupted in as strong a voice as he could muster.

'We're getting D'Artagnan back. There's no question in that. My real worry is, how do we do that?'

Aramis sighed, seeing the blank expressions on everyone else's faces. It looked like he wouldn't get very much rest after all, if they were to go after D'Artagnan as soon as possible.

'It looks like this mission has turned from a simple extraction to a hostage situation. Now, how are we going to deal with it?'

 **Few, finally finished the chapter (yay!). Sorry to leave it on such a cliff-hanger, but I need to leave something for the future as well! I apologise that this chapter was a bit slow moving, hopefully there'll be a bit more action in the next one. As always, thanks for reading and leave any and all thoughts!**


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm not even going to insult you with excuses, I'm just gonna hope there's still someone left around to read this... (But I am really sorry for the time gap).** **Also, apologies in advance: I do not speak Spanish, this is courtesy of Google...**

In the end, nobody was happy with the decided plan. But at least no one had shouted over anyone for the past ten minutes, so that was a significant improvement. It grew abundantly more clear that, the longer they waited, the more danger d'Artagnan was in. The suggestions so far were:

1) Henri goes in alone and extracts d'Artagnan and the ambassador (that was met with multiple complaints).

2) The musketeers would dress up as Spanish guards and, with Aramis's language skills and, with Henri keeping guard, infiltrate the Spanish base (though Henri refused to be left outside).

3) Just kill 'em all (thank you, Porthos).

4) A rather unhelpful suggestion to just use Henri as bait to lure the Spanish forces away (Athos was getting quite disgruntled at this point).

Suggestions, complaints, accusations and, at one point, a water canteen flew back and fro, until a plan was decided that gave everyone around a 33% chance of survival. And Athos was trying to be optimistic with his calculations there.

From several sources the Musketeers were aware of a Spanish hideaway in the middle of the woods close to the border of the river. No one was extremely happy when the word 'sewage' was included in Athos' proposal. But, through a process of drawing lots, it was decided that Porthos would try and sneak into the fortress while Athos and Aramis would dress up in uniforms of the Spanish (they would first have to overwhelm a patrol group, but that was a minor detail). They would pretend to shackle Henri and bring him in as a prisoner. The Spanish would be sure to have cells and, it being only a provisional base, there couldn't be many places to put all prisoners. They just had to hope that they would find d'Artagnan there, too. If not, there was always Porthos' original idea.

Aramis would stay as a lookout and Porthos was extra backup in case of anything going wrong, and to lead to the alternative escape route. Furthermore, in case of capture, it's always handy to not have all troops together so there's always someone there to rescue the others.

No one was really happy with this plan, but no one could think of a better one.

Everyone started strapping supplies hastily to their horses, Henri beside Aramis as they packed in silence. After a few minutes, Henri spoke softly.

'Are you alright?' Aramis just nodded silently, his gaze remaining fixed on tightening his saddle. After a brief moment, Henri opened his mouth again.

'You do understand that, if it's not possible to find your friend, our main objective is to find the false Spanish Ambassador and bring him back to Paris. We are trying to stop a war, we can't be brought down by one man.'

Aramis, too tired to argue, nodded slightly while silently promising himself that he would get d'Artagnan back no matter the cost to his own life. It was his fault the young Gascon had been captured, and France be damned if anyone thought he was ever leaving this forest without his friend.

Aramis turned away and headed back to the now smouldering ashes to grab the final bag when he was met face to face with Athos.

'Aramis, are you sure you're ready first this?' He knew full well Aramis was often spurred to do crazy things, and (especially with his injury) this could be very dangerous if he wasn't in the right state of mind.

'I assure you Athos, I'm fine. I can handle this.' He offered Athos a reassuring smile that didn't reach his eyes. He turned away again, hearings Athos going back to his own packing.

Porthos was readily to greet Aramis by his horse, wordlessly offering to help strap the last bag to his saddle. Aramis accepted the help gratefully. After the back was tightly packed, Porthos turned to his friend.

'Aramis, are you...'

'I swear, if one more person asks me if I'm okay, I will ride my horse off a cliff!' Aramis didn't remember deciding to shout but, with the surprised expressions that met him from every direction, that was evidently what had happened.

'Sorry.' The marksman apologised quietly, suddenly regretting his outburst. He just wanted this entire ordeal to be over so they could all go back to Paris, back to the Garrison and back to his room, to his bed...

Hiding the painted grimace it elicited, Aramis swiftly swung himself up into the saddle and nudged his horse into a trot down the path towards the Spanish fortress.

'Te traemos el traidor, Henri.' Athos shoved Henri forward roughly (perhaps a little rougher than was required) as Aramis spoke, hoping that was his cue.

The Spanish guards surveyed the Musketeers clad in the Spanish uniform, exchanging a few words with Aramis while Athos remained silent and cursed himself for not being better at reading facial expressions while he agonizingly tried to decipher what was being said. After a few seconds that lasted like hours, the gate was pushed open and all three imposters stepped into the empty entrance hall.

'What was that all about?' Athos hissed to Aramis gently.

'Just asking for directions.' Aramis reassured him, leading the party into a small corridor curving off to the right.

Aramis could feel himself getting weary so he was relieved to find the walk relatively short, the heavy wooden door unmistakable from the description that had been given to him by the entrance guards.

'Wait here.' Athos ordered Aramis who was about to argue when he remembered that he had technically agreed to this plan and couldn't start arguing now when everything had gone smoothly up until this point. So he just nodded contently, sneaking a glance into the room to make sure it was empty of Spanish before hurrying his comrades inside.

It took a few seconds for the men to adjust to the dim of the room, Athos could make out a row of cells lining the far wall. Only one was occupied.

'D'Artagnan!' Athos hurried forward, recognising the slumped figure. As d'Artagnan's eyes fluttered open, the only thing Athos could see was the horror in them.

'No, Athos stop, it's a trap they know you're here...'

'If you could do me a favour and drop your weapons.' A cool voice drooled from the direction of the door. Athos spun around, his stomach dropping when he saw a dagger at Aramis's throat and a pistol aimed at his own heart. He swore gently under his breath.

'Go on now, nice and slow.' Henri continued as Athos discarded all of his weaponry, all the time holding Henri in his deadly stare. 'And don't forget the dagger tucked into your boot.' Henri prompted helpfully, reminding Athos that he had been there when they had been getting prepared to ride out and thus knew of any hidden items on their person. Athos protruded a miniature pistol that Henri hadn't known about, but honestly didn't want to think about where it had been hidden.

Henri took out a key from his pocket, momunterily sliding the pistol back into his belt.

'You try anything,' he warned, 'and I slit his throat. Right here.' He could feel Aramis squirm under his grip, unsuccesfully trying to find a position where the dagger wasn't pressed uncomfortably against his windpipe.

Henri slid the key towards Athos, renewing his grip on the pistol.

'Get inside.' He motioned with the barrel, watching Athos' every move as he complied. 'Lock the door and slide the key back towards me.' Henri noticed Athos' hesitation. He pressed the dagger in just enough to draw a few drops of blood from Aramis' throat. In his condition Aramis didn't have the strength to fight him, his eyes widening as he felt the sharp blade tear his skin.

'Alright, look, it's done!' Athos assured his hastily, turning the key in the lock and sliding it hurriedly back towards the traitor. Henri picked up the key, forcing Aramis to discard his weapons at gunpoint just like with the other musketeer.

Once done, he unlocked the adjacent cell and muttered something into Aramis' ear in Spanish before pushing him inside. _My friend, forgive me._ These words swam through his head as Aramis became aware of the cool floor he was pressed into and surely it wouldn't hurt too much if he was to zone out for a bit...

He didn't hear the shouting from the cell next to him or see the hands that were trying to reach him through the bars.

Aramis had one thought on his mind when he woke up: Henri. Though he couldn't remember why. Had their plan succeeded? Had they all been captured? Slowly but surely, the details of the operation can swimming back into his head. Aramis tried to sit up swiftly, instantly regretting it as the strong pounding in his head reminded him of the blood loss caused by his wound.

'Aramis?' A familiar voice questioned, bringing him back to reality.

'Yeah, m'fine...' Aramis didn't even know why he bothered.

The others quickly brought him up to speed: he had been out for about 10 hours and, in that time, nobody had entered the cells. Before their arrival they had tried to beat some answers out of d'Artagnan ('I had to saw, their methods were rather mundane.' D'Artagnan joked as he felt his cracked ribs. 'An interesting torture technique is starting to be really hard to find these days.'), but he assured his friends he hadn't revealed anything. They believed him. What with the language barrier they had decided it was best to wait for Henri to return. They had known for days that Henri was bringing them in. From what d'Artagnan had understood, they had had a specific time and place that Henri was to take the musketeers agreed on in advance, and then he was to lure them to the fortress.

'He's been playing us from the beginning.' Athos cut in with a snarl. 'When I get my hands on that double crossing bast-'

'I don't know Athos, something seems off.' Aramis winced as he shifted to try and find a comfortable position against the iron bars.

'If Henri was working against us this whole time, why save my life in the first place? And why even tell us that the inspection was fake, let alone actually lead us to the fortress where the Spanish hired by the Cardinal were running their operation?' Aramis scrunched his features, trying to find an explanation while keeping himself from passing out again. All this information was causing the blood to rush to his head and he was feeling quite dizzy again.

'He could have saved your life to gain your trust... The rest was a ruse to get us here. Who knows the explanation behind his actions? Simple fact is, he turned us in. He has chosen the side of the enemy. I should have known, him just disappearing for so many years and then conveniently turning up before a war, I should have-'

Aramis suspected his friend could go on like this for quite a while, so he chose to speak up.

'I don't know Athos, there's something not quite right about this. I have a strange feeling things aren't quite what they seem. But let's not discard Henri as an enemy just yet...' his final words to Aramis swam in his head. He had seemed sincere when offering his apologies, but Aramis had never been able to truly read his expression. 'I have a feeling things may not be quite as they seem.' He finished simply.

'Let us not forget Porthos.' D'Artagnan chimed in quietly. 'It's possible they captured him, but would most definitely bring him here. We can only hope that he knows what is going on and-'

He never finished that train of thought for, at that moment, two muscular Spanish guards burst into the door, making straight for Aramis' cell. They opened the door and dragged him out, completely ignoring the shouting of the other Musketeers left behind in the room. The door swung shut heavily behind them as they dragged Aramis out of the room down the dark maze of corridors.

 **That's all for now! I might be updating some of my other stories but I definitely want to try and revisit this as soon as possible.**


End file.
